


In Altissia

by Swordy



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Altissia, Ardyn is a bastard, Blind Character, Blind!Ignis, Canon Disabled Character, Chill XV, Episode Ignis Spoilers, Final Fantasy XV Spoilers, Gen, I'm so sorry Ignis, Permanent Injury, Violence, serious angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 03:07:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11371329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swordy/pseuds/Swordy
Summary: While on evacuation duty in Altissia, Ignis runs afoul of a vengeful Ardyn Izunia. Based on the Episode Ignis teaser trailer.





	In Altissia

**Author's Note:**

> As soon as Ignis lost his sight in the main game, my mind ran riot with how it could have happened. Then the Episode Ignis trailer was released and it blew my mind, because in all the scenarios I'd considered, I'd never really thought about his injuries being caused _deliberately_. Those fifty-odd seconds are pretty horrifying. After watching it, I felt compelled to write this. 
> 
> I'm not sure 'enjoy' is the right word because this is not a happy tale, but any comments are greatly appreciated because I've been in a bit of a writing slump recently and comments always give me a good kick up the backside to write more.

~~~~~~~~~~~

There are too many of them; instinctively he knows that. A whole battalion of MTs, fresh off another drop ship. The carriers seem to be spawning above the clouds. He should run. He's a strategist, after all and there's no shame in turning tail when the odds of victory are insurmountable. As a child he debated Demosthenes with his tutor - was there wisdom or cowardice in living to fight another day?

As advisor to the king, there is only one answer. To Noct he'd be saying to run - that a death on this desolate battlefield would be wasted rather than glorious, that Lucis, that _the world_ needs him to do more. Alone, he has no one to advise. Alone, he may seek his own counsel knowing he alone must act on that advice. And it is thus - stay and fight to keep the hoards of MTs from heading to where Noct is imploring the Hydraean to aid their cause. If the Empire take down Leviathan, another of the Six will be lost.

He readies his daggers as the magitek troopers march down the ramp, steel on steel beating out an ominous tattoo. Once on the ground their cold, dead eyes lock onto him. He flexes, ready, but he's tired. This battle's been raging for too long. Assigned to evacuation duty, they'd initially stayed together while Noct headed for the altar, but strategy had again dictated that they were better apart. They could save more people. Be ready to support Noct if necessary. It was a unanimous decision. That sat easier, knowing any consequences of that decision would not be one person's to bear.

He takes a step, foot slipping slightly in the mud. The rain-soaked terrain isn't the only hazard. Destroyed MTs litter the ground around him. At least they'll slow the advance of the newcomers. He strains to hear the sounds of battle from elsewhere in Altissia, something, _anything_ , that will confirm his comrades haven't fallen. He asks the Six to take care of them. And Noct. And Luna. _Have eyes on them, and grant them your blessings._

Exhaustion is beaten back by anger. He loathes having Noct out of his sight, especially during times like this. Since they began their journey together, Gladio has confessed to feeling the same - that a King's Shield should be on his majesty's arm rather than being a tool of battle for someone else. This critical situation dictates that they all need to step out of their comfort zones, to trust that Noct, and Luna, will fulfil their parts without them. The lack of careful control is alien to him, hence the anger.

He has no curatives left. Even if he takes down this wave, he'll need to evaluate whether he remains to deal with the next one that will undoubtedly drop through the nimbostratus, because every kill takes him closer to exhaustion and a costly mistake. There's no one to shout strategy to. Or words of encouragement. As combatants, they've all improved since leaving the Crown City. Even Gladio and himself, who had trained obsessively in preparation for their sworn duties are better fighters now than they ever hoped to be. Not only as individuals, but as a unit. Since leaving Insomnia, they've learned to read each other's movements, to feed off each other's energies, to pick each other up when they fall. They left their home as friends and allies, but it's not the least bit hyperbolic to say they're now brothers.

He watches the MTs as they fan out in front of him. Overhead more drop ships rumble across the leaden sky. He could still turn and escape - even fatigued he could outrun them - but every minute he keeps them away from Noctis, is a minute closer to victory. He readjusts his grip on his blades, adrenaline surging, ready for war.

As he suspected, it's too much. They overwhelm him and although he takes a good number down, he's unable to keep up with their relentless attacks. A well-placed blow to both legs sends him forward into the mud and suddenly they're on top of him, crushing him into the dirt with their armoured bodies. The soft ground is a blessing as they'd certainly break bones without it. The knee on his back is particularly painful, the ridged armour merciless across his vertebrae at even the slightest movement. He grimaces as hands pin his arms and legs. He fights to keep his head up, lest he suffocate in the mud. He gasps as one of the soldiers twists his left arm up his back, ending his struggles abruptly. Out of his peripheral vision he sees weapons trained at his head.

Once it's clear he's going nowhere, the MT leaning on his right arm stands up. Into the space it vacates, a pair of booted feet appear. Even with his limited view he knows it's not another mindless drone. His pulse quickens. He tries to raise his head, glasses askew on his face. Rain splashes into his eyes, blinding him until he can blink it clear. A hand from above shoves him roughly downward.

“Well, _well_ , this is an interesting turn of events. Maybe fortune favours me, after all."

He's an intelligent man. Even before the newcomer had spoken, he'd known it would be Niflheim’s chancellor. Of course it is. The words are delivered in that deceptively mellifluous voice, emerging through a razor smile he knows is there without looking. He bears his teeth, which only seems to add to Ardyn’s amusement.

“You're a little far from your charge aren't you, Mr. Scientia? He could be in mortal danger."

Replying is pointless; he won't be goaded by this man. He focuses on controlling his breathing.

"You, on the other hand, are most _definitely_ in mortal danger."

He glimpses Ardyn gesticulating to the battlefield around them. Since he's been on the ground even more MTs have landed. There's no getting out of this.

"Just _look_ at the destruction you and your friends have caused," the chancellor continues disapprovingly. "It would be remiss of me not to demand _some_ sort of recompense, don't you think?"

Ardyn crouches, apparently ignoring the fact that his coat is trailing in the dirt. He cocks his head to one side so that they're face to face. The smile grows predatory.

"It's such a _shame_. Since we first met at Galdin Quay, I made it my mission to learn more about Prince Noctis's companions and I must say I was extremely impressed by the dedication you've shown to your duties, Ignis - may I _call_ you Ignis?" Naturally, Ardyn doesn't wait for an answer. His expression shifts to one of mock disappointment. "Your intelligence... You'd be _such_ an asset to the Empire, if only it weren't for your... misplaced loyalty to the Lucian royal family.

"Oh, there's no need to look at me like that! I wouldn't _dream_ of insulting your intelligence by asking you to consider switching sides, but the fact remains that I cannot allow our dear prince to continue benefiting from your brilliance."

Ardyn reaches out and plucks the glasses off his face. The chancellor turns them back and forth, before putting them to his own eyes and frowning.

"Hmmmm, not very strong; your eyesight must be perfectly passable without them. How _charming_ that perfection is so important to you."

Ardyn studies the glasses for a moment longer before snapping them decisively, a crunch of glass indicating that he's managed to break the lenses as well as the frames. The action makes him flinch.

He shifts slightly, legs cramping, but the movement results in the MT pinning him down shoving his arm further up his back. He closes his eyes and inhales sharply at the flash of pain. Any further and the limb will surely break. When he opens his eyes, Ardyn is still watching him with a curiously thoughtful expression.

"So, as I was saying, I'm afraid the Empire's loss, must also be the prince's loss. You've guided him too well, my dear Ignis! You see every possibility and plan for it beautifully. This day is surely testament to that fact. As a fellow strategist, I'm in deference to the skills that have kept the hapless prince one step ahead of me, but I'm afraid it must end here."

He swallows hard, lubricating vocal chords that have only been used for grunts of exertion and gasps of pain for the last few hours. He grinds the words out, committed to heart as carefully as those he had spoken when he vowed to protect Noctis with everything he had.

"As a Crownsguard of the Lucian royal family, I accept my death willingly."

"Oh you, Crownsguard; always so noble!" Ardyn spits mockingly. His smile suddenly twists into something infinitely more terrifying. "You're not getting death, Ignis! No, that would be far too easy. As tempting as it would be to kill you, I thought maybe we could come up with something a little more... creative? You see, I found myself wondering about how would Noctis would fair if he _couldn't_ see one step ahead anymore. And that gave me an idea."

Ardyn's right hand moves into view. Cradled in his palm is a dancing blue flame, that burns brightly despite the rain. The grip on his head tightens as he instinctively tries to pull back from its heat. His eyes remain fixated on the fire, pulse quickening, mouth dry. The chancellor turns his hand over and the flames move like a living thing, engulfing his index finger as he extends it.

"I also won't insult your intelligence by saying this won't hurt."

The movement is lightning fast. Despite this, he manages to throw his head back so that the flame only cuts a path through his right eyebrow and lower lip. A trailing finger catches him across the bridge of his nose. The pain is instant, taking his breath away. For the first time since he arrived, Ardyn looks angry, although the smile still remains.

"Ah, ah," he admonishes, "that's cheating."

Ardyn turns to the closest MTs and gestures impatiently. "Hold him down."

The weight on his body increases to the point where he can barely breathe. More hands find his head, fingers digging into his flesh, holding him still.

Suddenly, Ardyn's left hand comes into view, and his panic intensifies at the confirmation of what the other man intends to do. He squeezes his eyes shut, despite the burning pain in his face, but strong fingers prise his right eye back open. Ardyn's hand moves closer again.

"No," he gasps, the exclamation involuntary.

The heat increases as Ardyn's index finger moves closer. Behind the flickering flames, Ardyn's face looks almost inhuman. The hungry grin is clear for a moment, before it disappears altogether as the world goes dark. The fire never actually comes into contact with his eye, but the power of the elemental force is enough to do the necessary damage.

He almost certainly blacks out, although the respite is far too brief. When he comes to, nothing has changed. The immovable weight of the MTs still press him into the sodden earth. Ardyn still looms in front of him, delight clear upon his face. Pain still steals his breath. He blinks several times, a fruitless attempt to stop the burning sensation that shows no sign of receding. He realises that although his eye is still there, he's unable to see anything out of it when his left eye is closed.

"Ready for the second act?" Ardyn asks, unfailingly polite, like he's offering a guest another cup of coffee. He also looks faintly bored.

He groans, almost delirious with pain. A growing part of him just wishes they'd press down too hard and accidentally suffocate him in the mud. Anything to stop the agony and the knowledge of what Ardyn Izunia intends to do next.

"Please," he says, his voice barely audible over the roaring in his ears. He knows it's futile. Ardyn's smile is sympathetic, but the expression is at odds with the spiteful gleam in his eyes as the other man forces his left eye open wide. The chancellor is trying hard to conceal his anger, so Noct must have successfully forged the covenant with Leviathan. This unfortunate chance encounter has simply provided Ardyn with an opportunity for revenge.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Scientia." The chancellor huffs a soft laugh as he shakes his head. "I've already been denied entry into the afterlife for my myriad sins, so one more bad deed won't change anything."

And then the flames.

There is blackness again, but this time unconsciousness eludes him. The ferocity of the fire jerks his head forward, bringing his exposed eye into contact with the flames, and destroying it completely. He howls, but his voice is so hoarse the sound cuts out almost immediately.

"Oh _dear_ ," Ardyn says, "I hadn't intended to create something so... unsightly. Let me fix that."

Through the pain there is pressure as something - the heel of Ardyn's hand he assumes - presses against the ruins of his left eye. The burning intensifies and there's a smell of seared flesh. The pressure moves down onto his cheek before pulling away abruptly. He realises his eyelid won't open. He knows he's still conscious, but the blackness is now absolute.

"There," Ardyn announces and all at once the MTs release him. He curls in on himself, his shaking hands instinctively coming up to his face. He moans softly. It's impossible to tell if the wetness he feels is rain or blood.

"Well, that concludes our business with you, Mr. Scientia," the chancellor says pleasantly, before his voice takes on an uncharacteristic hardness. "Prince Noctis may have been successful in securing his covenant with the Hydraean, but the Lady Lunafreya is dead, so he will still feel the agony of failure _every single time_ he looks at your ravaged face. He will know grief and loss, just as you know it now. So goodbye for now, Ignis, although I'm sure our paths will cross again."

Footsteps leave. The MTs are going too, armour clanking as they presumably follow their fearless leader away from the field. Killing him would be so easy, yet the hoards simply step over and around him, their feet making a sucking, squelching sound in the mud as they pass. He lies still, rain drumming down on him. He moves a hand and his fingers catch on something almost buried in the dirt. It takes a moment's tactile exploration to realise that they're the remains of his glasses.

Time passes, then suddenly Gladio is bellowing his name, his companion's voice equal parts fear and desperation. Heavy footsteps hurry across the littered wasteland, before strong arms scoop him off the ground, the warmth of Gladio's body penetrating his sodden clothes. Safe at last, he allows himself to slip beneath the surface, away from the pain and the reality of what Ardyn has done to him.

As Gladio cradles him to his chest, pleading incessantly - _just hold on Iggy, you hear me?_ \- the glasses slip from his fingers back into the mud. No matter. They're broken and useless now.

Just like him.

 

 

**End**


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